


Enchanted

by aflawedfashion



Category: Defiance (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Femslash, Vampires, wlw vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflawedfashion/pseuds/aflawedfashion
Summary: Stahma Tarr goes to the NeedWant to purchase an hour with her favorite prostitute only to discover she's harboring a dark secret.





	Enchanted

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU to season 1, so you will recognize some of the dialog from the show, but I took liberties with it while changing the plot significantly.

Every Sunday morning for many years, Kenya Rosewater visited the finest bakery in Defiance to purchase the first loaf of sweet bread from the oven. She always left a generous tip before flashing a wide smile at Stahma Tarr who stood behind her in line for the second loaf. Each week, Stahma greeted her with aloof kindness, terrified of displaying indecent feelings for a prostitute in public as Kenya wrapped her arms around Stahma’s shoulders in a welcome hug. 

They held each other as if they were the best of friends, as if they didn’t know the million reasons they should have distrusted each other. They refused to acknowledge it. Early in the morning, as most of the town slept, they were friends, but unbeknownst to Kenya, Stahma didn’t care much for sweet bread. She had always nurtured a small crush on Kenya, and the bakery provided the perfect socially acceptable excuse to be in her presence. Stahma savored the sweet scent of Kenya’s perfume, and Kenya thanked her for sharing her husband… and her wealth. An hour with Kenya Rosewater did not come cheap.

This Sunday tradition continued so long neither woman could recall when it began, until one day, Stahma was the first in line for sweet bread. She forced a smile as the baker made small talk, but her heart was breaking in a completely illogical way. Kenya was just an acquaintance, not even a friend, not truly. She was nothing more than her husband’s prostitute, the sister of the mayor who hated her. An attractive diversion. Stahma attempted to convince herself that her feelings meant nothing, but her little crush had undeniably grown from passing attraction to genuine affection. 

Stahma never stopped buying sweet bread on Sunday mornings, and Kenya never returned. Their relationship had disappeared like it never existed, and Stahma missed her human friend more each week, but It wasn’t long before she realized she didn’t have to live a life without Kenya Rosewater. All she needed was a neatly folded bundle of scrip.

So, on the first night after her husband left town on business, Stahma told her handmaidens that she urgently needed to visit a friend. Nothing, not even a dangerous razor rain storm, could stop her. Her handmaidens pleaded with her to stay home, warned her not to risk her life, but she reassured them that everything would be fine before heading to the Needwant to purchase an hour with Kenya Rosewater.

“Favi Tarr,” Kenya said with a strong voice and apprehensive eyes, her face unnervingly devoid of the affection Stahma had grown accustomed to. “What a nice surprise.” She smiled and slid an envelope across the bar to Stahma.

Stahma’s heart sank as she realized Kenya misunderstood the reason for her visit. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for any curious onlookers who might notice and gossip as she slid the envelope back to Kenya. Stahma hated doing business in public, but she swiftly realized it created the perfect cover in case any of those chatty onlookers informed her husband of her visit to a prostitute. 

“I thought that you were here for your husband's weekly collection...”

“He’s out of town,” Stahma said, finally meeting Kenya’s gaze, finally realizing how different Kenya seemed from the last time they spoke. Bathed in dim lighting, Kenya’s fair skin could easily be mistaken for Castithan if not for the long hair that flowed down her back, black as night. She seemed more radiant, more enigmatic, more enchanting. Her lively charm had transformed into a subtle grace, like a work of art - a statue among mortals. 

“I’m here to secure your professional services,” Stahma added with false confidence.

“Oh,” Kenya smiled, her shoulders relaxing, her hand trailing along her collarbone. “Well, you’re in luck. I don’t have any clients tonight. Most people stay home during a razor rain storm.”

“I can imagine.” 

“And you’re the last person I’d expect to see here tonight.”

“With my husband out of town, I was…” 

“Lonely?” 

“Yes. Lonely,” but not for her husband.

“I can help with that.” Kenya gently touched Stahma’s arm. “I’ve always wished Datak would bring you in during one of his sessions.”

“So should we go…” Stahma glanced upstairs. “I’ve never done this before.” She smiled shyly and bowed her head. “Humans are such a mystery.”

“We’re really not that complex.” 

“What about this… g spot?” Stahma asked. “It’s one of your major erogenous zones, and yet it took your own scientists centuries to confirm it even existed.”

“It’s not mysterious if you know what you’re doing.” 

“Exactly why I came to you.” 

“Let me buy you a drink first.” Kenya smiled with a mix of hope and unexpected regret. “I’ve missed our little chats.”

“I’ve missed them too.” Stahma’s heart warmed knowing Kenya shared her feelings. “And I’m surprised not to see you anymore. I know how much you love sweet bread.” 

“My life has changed,” Kenya said, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But come.” She extended her hand to Stahma. “Let’s not talk about that now.” 

With a single nod of her head, Stahma took Kenya’s hand, flinching as her cold fingers grazed Stahma’s hand. At that moment, Stahma realized how unnecessarily cool the room seemed, but she supposed Kenya’s clients must like it that way. She gently squeezed Kenya’s fingers, hoping to transfer some of her own warmth, and Kenya returned the gesture with surprising strength. 

As they sat at their table, Kenya motioned for one of her night porters to bring them their wine. Deep red for Kenya. White for Stahma. 

Kenya closed her eyes in pleasure as she took a sip from her glass, the crimson liquid leaving a stain almost indistinguishable from her lipstick. “It warms the soul.” 

“You sound like your sister.”

“I suppose I do.” Kenya laughed. “But trust me, my tastes are far different than hers.”

Stahma arched an eyebrow. “I hope your tastes vary in more ways than just wine.”

“Very much so.” A flirtatious smile passed Kenya’s lips. “She’s rarely approved of my lovers.”

“Or mine.” 

Kenya laughed, and their conversation quickly turned personal. She told Stahma the story of her life - from how her mother abandoned her to how she became one of the most successful people in all of Defiance. And Stahma spoke of her own life, of her husband and her son.

“This whole time we’ve been sitting here,” Kenya said, “you’ve talked about Datak and Alak, but never yourself.” 

Stahma froze, Kenya’s eyes so intensely focused on her own that she swore Kenya could see into her soul. Then the NeedWant shook, and they both jumped in their seats. Razor rain. How could she forget? Thankfully, the shaking quickly stopped, and Stahma turned back to Kenya who was still staring at her, waiting for a response.

“I don’t want you to get me wrong,” Stahma said. “I love my life. I love my boys….” she paused and added, “both of them.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to remind herself or Kenya that she had a husband, a husband she loved.

“But…” 

“Sometimes I do feel like I’m living in service to them.” She glanced at the patrons surrounding them, terrified one of her husband’s business partners might hear her whisper, “And I want things too.”

“When was the last time you did something just for you?” Kenya asked. 

“Before tonight…” Stahma’s smile grew as memories ran through her head. “On my homeworld… I was quite the… never mind.” She had come to the NeedWant for sex, not to feel the loss of a life she could never return to.

“Tell me.” 

“The closest word in your language would be poetry, I think.” 

“You wrote poetry?” Kenya asked with soft surprise as if it fundamentally changed how she perceived Stahma.

“In Casti, it’s not written. It’s spoken.” 

“Like a performer or an actress.”

“I even had a small, loyal following.”

“I wish I could understand Castithan,” Kenya said. “I’d love to hear one.” 

“Not everything I performed was in Castithan.” Stahma glanced at her empty wine glass, and Kenya summoned another pale night porter with a fresh bottle. “I also performed in classic Omec operas,” Stahma said, unable to take her eyes off the night porter, shivering as their eyes met, smiling in relief as she left the table. 

“Omec?” Kenya leaned forward in her seat. “I thought Votans feared the Omec, called them devils.” 

“Devils. And enchanters - furije nefkitso - dangerous, irresistible beings who swept young women off their feet and showed them things no Castithan ever could. Disappeared in the dread harvest, never to be seen again, never desiring to return.” Stahma could feel a blush returning to her cheeks. “I know human women find that sort of relationship… distasteful.”

“Undoubtedly,” Kenya said. “But the Omec have been of particular interest to me lately.” She smiled, an unshared secret in her eyes. “From what I’ve read, they were sort of… alien vampires, for lack of a better word.” 

“I guess you could say that as a loose definition.” Stahma smiled. “I remember their operas quite clearly, more clearly than my own poems.”

“Then write new poetry,” Kenya commanded. “Do something that’s not for Datak or Alak. Do something that is just for you.”

“I’m here for me, no one else.” 

“You’re here for sex with a prostitute. It doesn’t compare to creating art, expressing your soul. After everything you just said, you can’t tell me this is all you need to feel fulfilled.”

“I know you don’t understand my culture, but Castithan women do not have sex with prostitutes. This is far more meaningful than you can imagine.” 

“But your husband-“

“Is a man. He can sleep with anyone he chooses. I am a woman. I must remain faithful.” 

“Do you have any idea how antiquated that sounds?”

“Yes,” Stahma said. “But those are the rules of my culture, the ways of my ancestors who face a grave risk of being forgotten.” 

“So let them be forgotten.”

“I can’t do that.” 

Kenya took a deep breath, burying the disagreement in fiery eyes. “Let’s not waste time on this. We were having such a wonderful night.” Her face softened, and she asked, “Do you want to dance with me?”

Stahma’s heart began to race, and her mouth went dry. “Might I have another drink, please?” She asked.

“Of course,” Kenya said, waving over yet another young woman with a simple flick of her wrist. How many did she have at her disposal?

“Don’t get me wrong… I want to dance with you, but I can’t.” 

“Of course you can.”

“I’m married.” 

“So are half the people in here.” Kenya nodded in the direction of the other patrons. “Why do you think everyone is pretending not to see you?”

Without waiting for a reply, Kenya took Stahma’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Stahma squeezed Kenya’s newly warm hand and wondered if red wine really did warm a human’s soul. Stahma’s white wine simply left her with a calm, prickly feeling. 

“See,” Kenya said as their hands clasped and their hips met, “it’s easy.” 

“For you, maybe.” Stahma grazed her hand gently against Kenya’s arm, almost afraid she would shatter like porcelain. She emanated an ethereal beauty Stahma had never seen in anyone before, a beauty that defied everything Stahma knew of humanity.

“In time, it will be for you too.” 

“No. If my husband ever saw us together, he’d kill us both. That will never change.” 

“Don’t you want something more?” Kenya whispered, their bodies swaying together as if they were one.

“I’m happy,” Stahma said automatically. The answer was ingrained in her since childhood. No highborn Castithan woman would disgrace her family by admitting to dissatisfaction.

“But if you could have anything in this world, what would it be?”

“There are too many possibilities to consider.” Stahma’s mind raced and went blank. “How could I answer such a question?”

“Just tell me the first thing you think of.” 

“I would wish… I would wish that I never stopped writing, never stopped believing the myths of my people were real.” 

“Even the Omec?”

“Especially the Omec.” 

“You want to be enchanted.”

“Yes.” 

Kenya took a deep breath, summoning the courage to ask, “what would you say if I told you that you didn’t need to go to space to find an alien vampire?”

A soft laugh escaped Stahma’s throat. “I’d say you speak in too many hypotheticals, too lost in fantasy for your own good.”

“You might be right about that,” Kenya said. “But follow me anyway.” 

“Are we role playing?” Stahma asked. 

“Better.”

In a dark corner of the NeedWant, where no one could see them, Kenya pushed Stahma against a wall and kissed her with ravenous energy. Kenya’s hands explored Stahma’s clothed body, tantalizing her until she ached to get Kenya alone in her room. She tried pulling her towards the stairs, but Kenya refused.

“I thought you were going to enchant me,” Stahma said. “Do you have some sort of costumes back here or…”

“Not costumes.” Kenya pressed a row of soft kisses against Stahma’s jaw. “I know I could never impress you with a simple costume.”

Stahma bit back a smile, charmed by the idea that Kenya would know exactly how to seduce her. “Then what would impress me?”

“The real thing,” Kenya said before moving her kisses back to Stahma’s mouth. A soft moan escaped Stahma’s lips that quickly turned to a gasp as a sharp pain shot through her tongue as if she had been pricked by a needle.

Stahma pushed Kenya away, touching her fingers to her swollen lips. “What was that?” 

“Me.” Kenya parted her lips to display her sharp fangs. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Stahma lied, her voice barely audible. “Surprised,” she added, but it wasn’t entirely accurate. Kenya’s strange night porters, red wine, and pale appearance suddenly made sense. “This is real?”

“Yes,” Kenya said. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Stahma tilted her head to the side, exposing her smooth white skin to her beautiful monster. “I’ve read enough of your human myths to know what happens next.”

Gently stroking Stahma’s cheek with the back of her hand, Kenya looked into Stahma’s eyes and said, “You’re too quick to accept this, Stahma. I half expected you to fight, to run away.” 

Stahma straightened her posture and furrowed her brow. “You want to discuss this?”

“I just want you to know there’s no going back.” 

“I know.” Stahma smiled, her trembling lips betraying a fear she wished didn’t exist. “I wished to be enchanted.” 

Kenya stepped forward, desire clouding her eyes. She paused, still unconvinced of her actions, but with every second that passed, Stahma grew increasingly sure of her own desires. She placed her hand on Kenya’s back and pulled their bodies together. It was all the temptation Kenya needed. She closed her crimson lips around Stahma’s neck, leaving Stahma gasping in pain and pleasure. Stahma never imagined such a feeling existed. She wove her fingers through Kenya’s hair, pressing Kenya’s face deeper into her neck. 

This was everything she had dreamed of, the life she thought she could never have. 

  
  



End file.
